The Mack Saga Drabbles
by sunshine2006578
Summary: These are the drabbles mentioned in Confidence Trick, the second installment of the Mack Saga. Alternate POVs, random one-shots... you get the picture. This'll be updated sporadically, between stories in the Saga. It's just for fun. R&R?
1. Chapter 1

**To everyone who's ever read anything from the stories on here I like to call Mack's Saga, it's nice to see you again. **

**To anyone that's never read either of the first two installments, Because of the Telepath, or Confidence Trick… good luck keeping up. **

**I decided to start the drabbles early, because I just couldn't resist. **

Marlene was fairly certain he was the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on.

Marlene had laid eyes on a good amount of attractive men in her fifteen years.

She was Italian after all; everyone in the world knew Italians were famous for pizza, the mafia, leaning towers, and most of all…_lovers._

She could remember being very, very young, and holding her mother's hand as they perused markets. She could remember gazing up at the big, boisterous men and accepting gifts like small flowers or pieces of fruit as her mother shopped, with them patting her head and calling her _bel bambino;_ beautiful child.

Then, when she was a few years older, she remembered seeing the men again, and smiling shyly, hiding behind her mother's skirts or pant legs, and peering out to gaze at these things called _males_. They were exactly like her, except somehow, they were different. Perhaps in more ways than one.

Marlene had never had childhood phase where she thought boys were icky.

In fact, she was fascinated by them.

This, perhaps, was not the best way to be. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she began to inquire as to what made boys tick; what made them laugh, what made them scoff, what made them so much tougher than she, what made them think, (that one was hard; Marlene eventually came to accept boys rarely thought at all), what made them blush and look away.

"_La curiosità uccise il gatto,"_ her mother warned her. Curiosity killed the cat.

But Marlene wasn't a cat, and she didn't think her curiosity was strong enough to get her killed. So until she turned thirteen, she went on inquiring.

Then, that summer, the boys began to notice she was more than just a nosy tag-along with a thirst for knowledge as to their general boyish natures. No, now, they noticed, now she was _bello, magnifico, radiante._

When Marlene would twirl her thick dark hair around her little finger, and tilt her head a certain way, their jaws would go slack, and they would wonder when she had started doing that.

When she would raise up her skirts to go wading in the creek with them like she always did, they would find themselves staring at her exposed legs, and wishing disconcertedly that she would raise them higher.

Her laugh, her eyes, her soft skin, that teasing note in her voice, the way she would sing when she was hanging out clothes to dry… it had every boy proclaiming on at least six, if not seven surrounding streets:

"_Lo sono innamorato!_" I am in love!

Marlene would just giggle. What use to her was love?

A year and a half passed, and her father struck it rich suddenly, and before she knew it, she was being shipped off to a boarding school in America. The _home del terreno libero, la terra dei brav!_

Marlene was terribly excited to be here, where everything was so different.

Standing here across the room from this gorgeous man, she was beginning to wonder if her home country was correct in thinking of all Americans the same.

He was certainly nothing like she was expecting.

He was _bello._ Beautiful.

Marlene had never had this much to drink before, but it gave her the courage she needed to take the steps required. She approached this _bello_ man, this American who would teach her all she ever needed to know about the men here.

Possibly all she needed to know about the men everywhere.

"_Saluto,"_ is the first word out of her mouth. Greeting.

Her cheeks grow red and hot, and she can't decide if she's embarrassed, or shy, or has had simply too much wine.

But then, she is from Italy; and what sort of Italian can ever have too much wine?

The man's eyes are red around the rims, but just barely. Even somewhat intoxicated, he carries himself with an air of authority, and Marlene thinks to herself that this must be someone a lot of people respect.

"I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded amazing." He admits, winking at her.

"I am sorry, sir," Marlene says slowly, thinking of how all her American friends tease her when she doesn't get the tense right. "I am very new here, to America."

The man blinks slowly, languidly, drinking her in, and the way he looks at her makes her nervous. She wonders if she ever made the boys back home feel this way.

"I can see that," he replies.

He could? How? Was it branded somewhere on her? Was she wearing an emblem of her home somewhere upon her person?

She asks him this.

He laughs, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear, and tells her that it's just a figure of speech.

Marlene is not quite sure what a figure of speech is, (How can speech have a figure? It has no body.) but she likes the way this man says it.

"What is your name?" He asks her.

"Marlene." She tells him.

"I like it," he compliments.

She blushes prettily, batting her eyelashes in that way she knew drove Mario Veroni crazy back home.

But this person standing in front of her is no elementary school boy that has a crush on her.

The thought of how much older than she that he is makes something in her become nervous.

But her mind and her drink push all nervousness away, and they talk.

His name is Darren, and she likes this. It is American. It is new. No boys in Italy are named Darren.

And when he touches her, pushes his lips against hers and she tastes all the promises there, she forgets everything.

She forgets how all the boys back home wanted this. She forgets how some of the boys on the school campus look at her and her dark hair and pretty face. She forgets how she is Italian and this man is American. She would probably even forget that he is _bello_ if the evidence were not right in front of her.

She would forget that she was _bello_ too, if he were not making her feel that way.

And her curiosity is sated.

**So, there's the vague story of how Mack and Fang's mother met their father. You know, the first time, which resulted in, uh, Fang. **

**These won't be updated very often, only in between the chapters for the main story. And these are NOT the ones in which Mack and Fang meet their grandparents. That'll be it's own little story entirely. **

**But what do you think of the first drabble? Love it, hate it? **

**Review and let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

She's at a party again because it's been a month, right down to the day, and she still can't function.

Her English has gotten much better. She knows now, that there is not really that much of a difference between American boys and Italian ones. She also knows that age is not what makes a man.

Her friends dragged her here, protesting all the while. Her mascara is perpetually smudged because she tears up at the most random of times.

Her baby is dead, and he is not coming back. She never got to hold him. She never got to shower him with all the infinite love she felt while carrying him. She never even got to tell him goodbye.

That's why, when she spots _him_ across the room, she marches straight up to him. There is no little girl left in her. She is all woman now. More than that; a hardened, tired, thoroughly pained woman.

She no longer thinks he is _bello_. Nothing about this man is beautiful.

But the gift he gave to her was.

This is why she follows him into a bedroom for a second time. Because this should end where it began.

* * *

**Really short, but I love one-shots from Mack and Fang's mother's POV. (This is the occasion that results in Mack, for those of you sort of lost).**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone! This one is set just a little bit after Confidence Trick; the flock has left Japan, knows their next mission, and has gone to the new house in Salt Lake City to recuperate and set up the home-base, basically. There's not really a distinct POV here because I wanted to capture everyone's reactions to the house. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The house was easily the largest one the flock had ever seen.

It was so big it looked more like a cozy luxury resort than a single house. A lot of it was made from raw stone, reminiscent of the cliffs and caves the flock had loved so well long ago. The rest was all neat, trim tan siding and giant glass windows and reinforced shingled roofs. There were even two chimneys. There were tons of staircases on the outside connecting the various balconies, and the flock could see between the stone archways, through the wide and hall-like porch, and into the ground floor rooms. The lawn was a calculated shade of green, and the mountains hovered behind the house, providing the perfect backdrop.

Nudge was pretty sure there were more windows than walls, really.

Max pursed her lips, tilting her head and considering the layout. Most of the upper-level windows looked like they could be opened in a door-ish way, and were clearly bullet-proof.

A large portion of the front of the house was rounded, providing almost a 360 scope of the outside world. Very useful. The rest of the walls with lots of windows were sunken in behind the rounded portion for optimal coverage. The other parts of the house, the ones with the triangle roofs that jutted out on the sides, were clearly more about fanciful design.

Max could tell that whatever would be in those parts of the house would be expendable, but what with the luxury layout, anyone observing the house would think them of the utmost importance and probably destroy them first.

All in all, Max decided it was probably the most perfect, beautiful safe house in the entire world. The stone walls were not only a statement of architecture, but clearly so thick someone would need a military-grade tank-drill to get through them.

Jeb had done… sufficiently. She'd give him that.

Nudge, meanwhile, was almost in tears. She had always dreamt of what a home would be like. A real home, and a very safe one, where she could live with her whole entire flock, and maybe someday bring a family of her own to visit. This was more than she'd ever expected, and she was literally shaking with anticipation of what the inside looked like.

Nudge was entirely speechless, which really should have shown how magnificent it was.

Angel and the Gasman were whispering quietly amongst themselves, too low for the rest of the flock to hear. But their identical blue eyes were wide with awe and excitement, and their whispers were fevered and ecstatic.

Fang's lips twitched once, and then he crossed his arms stoically, scanning the land for threats. There were none. He had to admit, Jeb had done a pretty great job of picking the place. The driveway had been nothing but a paved opening in the thick forest of the mountains.

It was in a gated ski community, but the houses were few and very far between. The drive twisted and turned, and actually went even farther up the mountain than one would expect the house to be, with an immaculate garage off to the very far side at the end.

There was a large gate right before the house came into view, and woods blocked it from view on two sides, the front and the left. As far as Fang could see, the right was basically a steep, rocky mountain slope. He could see the boathouse that resembled a three car garage right on the edge of a very vast lake.

God, he really freaking loved this house. He wanted to kiss Max in every room of it. He wanted to press her up against that gate post, against that tree right there, against the stones of the archways on the bottom porch, on the roof, in the light of those windows, on every balcony, on the soft green grass-

Mack had squealed on sight and launched herself at Iggy. He'd caught her and twirled around, making several blind jokes in a row. She'd instantly started describing everything to him.

Max broke everyone's reverie with a very leader-like question. "Uhh, guys…Which door do we knock on?"

* * *

Dr. M threw open the door and gasped, instantly enveloping Max in her arms. Max smiled that little adoring smile she always adopted when her mother hugged her, and wrapped her arms around the woman too.

Ella grinned behind the two, and squeezed past them to give everyone else quick hugs.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up, Kimi!" Jeb boomed from his spot on the couch. Kimi, the exiled and recently adopted illegitimate princess of Japan, poked her little head above the designer leather sectional in the vast living room. Her cheeks went bright pink, and her slanted dark eyes wide. She giggled and waved.

Max let go of Dr. M, and slowly approached Jeb, as though approaching a rather large, distasteful animal that she was allergic to. Max could taste the bile in the back of her throat.

The rest of the flock stepped into the house and watched her with curious eyes.

"The house is… nice. Thank you."

There was an audible gasp from everyone in the room.

Jeb blinked several times in surprise, his entire body tensing and then relaxing. Then he winked. "Max, you haven't even seen your room yet. Thank me _then._"

"There used to be lots and lots of people here. They did some really funny things. They always knew when the phone would ring! And how many fingers I was holding up behind my back! And there were some even younger than me. But oh well, they're all gone now. Jebby sent them other places." Kimi chimed in bravely, still eyeing the exposed wings of the flock.

Mack nudged Gasman gently, and he scowled at her, but then stepped forward and gave Kimi a shy smile. "Um. Hi, Kimi. Um. Do you, um, feel any better? And do you, um, like it here?"

Kimi considered him for a moment, then got off the couch and came forward to give Gazzy a hug. Nudge let out a loud "_aaawwweeee_!" at the same time Angel giggled hysterically. Max snorted and rolled her eyes.

"That's right, Gazzy. Become the ladies man I always trained you to be- _OW_!" Iggy hissed under his breath when Mack punched him in the shoulder.

When Kimi pulled away, leaving Gazzy with a crimson face, she grinned. "I feel lots better now that I'm with nice people. They don't make fun of my nose!"

"What's wrong with your nose? I like it. It's all little and… stuff," Gasman complimented awkwardly, glancing back at Mack for encouragement.

Kimi laughed. "Not the way it looks, silly. I can't smell! I hit my head when I was little, and all the smell flew right out of my nose!"

"Oh my God!" Max exclaimed. "She really _is_ the Gasman's soul mate!"

"Come see my room," Kimi ordered, embracing her soul mate status and taking Gazzy by the hand.

* * *

Turns out _everyone's_ room is in one central location. One of the rounded places of the house has been turned into a common room of sorts, with the largest TV the flock has ever seen, lots of couches, and plenty of gigantic windows to fly out of. There's even a little kitchenette in the corner of the rounded room.

Branching off from the room are three hallways aside from the main one.

Down one hallway are the rooms belonging to Angel, the Gasman, and Kimi. Down another are Ella and Nudge's rooms. And down the third hallway is the rooms of Max, Fang, Iggy, and Mack.

There are names printed on all of the doors in varying colors and different fonts.

There is light everywhere in this house. It shines through all of the perfectly angled windows and reflects off the shiny, polished surfaces. There are sitting rooms, dining rooms, lounges, studies, and offices galore.

The flock walks through Operations, the very center of the house. It is in stark contrast with the rest of it, all business; giant screens hang all over the place, and there are no large windows here, only a small standard one and a bulletproof skylight for a roof. The walls are painted white, and various shiny gadgets cover every metal surface. A circle of whirring computers line the entire room, and there are lots of expensive filing cabinets and shelves.

It almost reminds the flock of the sterile, clinical environment of the School, but it's too new and the interior decorating skills have made it an environment that somehow flows together and strikes a pleasant chord. It's very strike-team-ish.

Max approves.

Kimi's room is everything a little girl's room should be. It is nice and roomy, with real hardwood flooring and an intricately carved window seat. The curtains are opaque, gauzy and white. The walls are painted the lightest shade of pink possible, the hue barely even discernible. Kimi has a twin bed with a white whicker headboard. Her bedspread is expensive white cotton, and it (along with all of her pillows, and there are plenty) has girly pink and blue Japanese lotuses printed all over it. The chair beside her bed is regal in a childish way, with a wrought iron back and a thick cushion.

There is a child-sized full-length mirror leaning against one wall, spray-painted glittery gold with a large tiara carved on top, a lotus underneath. There is a rug on the floor that's blue, and a tapestry on the far wall behind the cartoonish white couch that's pink, both printed with Japanese things. (The couch is also loaded down with pillows, these of the very fluffy faux fur variety). There are two large matching lamps on either side, and then there are two more chairs, these both very large. One is rounded and soft, while the other is low to the ground and vintage looking, covered almost completely with soft, old Japanese blankets.

Lights dangle from her ceiling in the shape of giant lotus flowers.

Right next to Kimi's window seat is a small table, and on it are the most beautiful of exotic flowers. They look so incredibly real, but Mack takes a second, much closer look and realizes that they're actually fake.

"Those are the kinds of flowers that grew outside the house that Mommy and I lived in back in Japan." Kimi explains shyly, pointing them out to Gasman. "They're not real, so they can't ever die, not even in winter time!" Gasman waits patiently as she describes everything to him in detail and how she acquired all of it.

The other kids in the flock are bouncing up and down impatiently. With all the splendor of Kimi's room, they're dying to see their own.

Nudge thinks Kimi's room looks incredibly simplistic. It's all of very high quality; gorgeous and stunning, of course, but in the large room the childishness is thrown into high definition, and the large pieces of furniture don't seem quite as big as they really are. It gives the illusion of a normal little girl's room, albeit one right out of a designer magazine.

The bathroom is much the same; matching iron chairs, a simple pink and white shower curtain, a low sink with pretty glass lights hanging above and real tile on the floor.

Nudge holds her breath at the thought that she might get the same type of lovely, _normal __**normal **__**normal**_ room.

Angel sees all the toys stuffed in the closet; Barbie houses and baby dolls and puzzles and board games like _Candyland_. Angel really really _really_ wants to see her room. She hopes hers isn't nearly as childish as all this. Angel wants big, bigger, better, _best._ Angel wants grand things.

Max gives Kimi a small smile when she sees all the things her mother sent with her laid out meticulously on her nightstand beside her bed.

* * *

Angel gets the _grand _she was hoping for.

Her room basically looks like the most expensive hotel suite in Heaven. Her bed is a large full sized one with a golden-brown silk bedspread. The curtains hanging all around the bed are heavy and look very sophisticated. The drapes on the two incredibly tall, wide windows swoop. The large couch and the royalty-like chairs are all a silvery ivory color. The room is incredibly Baroque in style, and very luxurious. Little clouds are printed on pretty much everything. The ceilings are very high and sculpted, and an intricate chandelier hangs there made of pure crystal.

It looks like something Marie Antoinette would have lived in, not a six year old little girl. But when Max peers through the wooden double doors and into the closet, she sees a bunch of colorful, girly frocks and plenty of toys like Kimi has, and she relaxes.

"We get _clothes_?" Nudge squeals.

"We want you to realize that these are _your_ clothes, guys," Dr. M says very quickly. "Clothes that truly belong to you, and weren't bought for a mission or on the run. We put a lot of thought into your personalities for all the rooms and the clothes. The wardrobes all have tags on still, so if you want to take the clothing back to the store and pick them out yourselves, that's entirely fine."

Max is struck by just how hard her mother and Jeb have worked to make this a real home for them. She fights back the lump in her throat as she watches Angel flit about the room, turning on all the ornamental lamps and snuggling into the bed that all but swamps her.

The bathroom is much of the same; it sticks to the same creamy color theme; there's a white faux-fur rug covering the wooden floors, and a sink that resembles a vanity table. There are high-backed chairs on either side of the fancy-schmancy towel rack. Even the claw-foot bathtub has creamy curtains around it, but these are tied to the posts on all four sides with intricately woven tassels. There's flour-de-lis wallpaper in here, too, same as the bedroom.

This extravagance makes Kimi's room seem very middle-class. Did they all get out-of-this-world rooms? Do all of their new dwellings fit their personality so well?

Nudge is still going through Angel's closet with her as everyone else finishes up their awe-filled tour of Angel's _Palace at Versailles_ suite. Her outfits are basically composed of nothing but frilly tea-party gowns.

Gasman's mouth falls open when he sees his little sister swirling around in a whirl of organza and lace. "Whoa! Angel, your wings fit perfect!"

She really looks like an angel here; her blonde curls and these queen-like outfits all go perfectly with the clouds and the luxurious furniture. Her white wings fan out behind her, thrown into stark contrast by the off-white fabric of the lace in her dress and the chairs in her room.

"How are you going to fight in that, Angel?" Fang asks, cutting off Max's angry, no doubt scathing oncoming comment.

"These aren't for training, silly. Jeb had lots of different kinds of clothing picked out. Did you know there's a gym in this house? I can't read _his_ mind of course, but I can read Dr. M's, and she helped him with the designs. There's a Jacuzzi tub for when we get sore and everything! It's got thick training mats, and weights, and a track around the edge of the room and-"

"Stop spoiling everything, Angel!" Jeb scolds, but he's grinning.

"So where are your _normal_ clothes, Angel?" Max bites through her teeth.

"These are my normal clothes, Max. Don't worry, there are some pants and blouses in here too. But my _training_ clothes are over here," Angel says, showing them a much smaller, more obscure part of her closet. Hanging there are several exercise outfits, made of stretchy and comfortable material. They're all in bright colors, and this bothers Max- bright colors are easier for an enemy to spot- but she can't help but take hold of the nearest dress and study the back.

There are perfect wing-shaped holes in the back of every outfit, measured to fit Angel's wings to a tee, even accommodating for when her wings would stretch as she flew and shifted.

Max's eyes widen, and Mack has clearly been watching her and has seen what she's seen. There's a huge grin on Mack's face. She's almost as bad as Nudge about this clothing thing.

It takes them fifteen minutes to tear Angel away from her room and convince her to rejoin the tour and move on to Gazzy's room.

* * *

Gasman completely refuses to leave his room after he sees it. Kimi feeds off of his excitement and rushes with him from furniture piece to piece. His room is very outer-space. His bed is lifted off the ground. It's white and boxy, with a metal curved ladder. Underneath is every gaming system known to man, and drawers filled with suspicious wires.

The carpet is blue, and there are orange accents everywhere, including in the bathroom that has a bathtub/shower hybrid and metal towel racks and a closet full of funny t-shirts. There's a painting of Earth on the wall, and glow-in-the-dark stars and moons and planets litter the ceiling. The lights are fluorescent, and all of the chairs are white and round like eggs.

The most shocking thing, and seeming very out of place, is all the books.

There are shelves stacked ten high on Gasman's far wall, and all of the books are on engineering; guns and bombs, buildings and garages, space shuttles and probes. There are books on period weapons, like the Civil and Cold Wars, and books that fit in with Gasman's sci-fi room that discuss what future technology could be like.

There's also a dictionary, which relieves Iggy a lot, because Gazzy has a really irritating habit of asking what words mean.

"What are all of these for?" Gasman asks, his eyes wide as he peruses the titles.

"We know you'll really like them. You could learn a lot from them." Jeb says evasively, glancing at Mack.

Mack sighs. "Okay, fine. So Jeb _might_ have contacted me while we were on con-break in Arizona and asked me to look into the future to see your reactions to different types of rooms and whatnot. Gazzy, I knew you'd really want time to study… how to more efficiently make _things_… while you're here at home. But you wouldn't want to ask for books and stuff for fear of disapproval, so I told Jeb to just go ahead and put them all in here."

Gasman freezes, his fingers lingering on a book titled _Soviet Russian Tanks and All Their Uses_. Then suddenly he's rushing at Mack and burying his face in her stomach, his skinny little arms wrapped around her. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you! This is incredible. It's the most awesome room ever given to any boy ever!"

"Did you help design everyone's rooms, Mack?" Iggy asks.

"Yep. I knew what you all really wanted, so… Well, except Kimi. She picked out all her own stuff when she got here. She didn't want the over-the-top like the rest of you. And I let Ella do a lot of Max's room. And I have no idea what's in mine."

Angel is sniffling by the time they exit this hall and make their way to Nudge and Ella's.

Fang really hopes that no one else's reactions are so emotional.

* * *

Nudge's palms are sweating and her abnormally fast heart rate is quickly topping the charts. Her room is next. Ella's had been all purple, very similar to Kimi's room; it too had been delightfully normal, with black flowers on skinny vines printed on her bedspread. Ella had gotten a huge bathroom though, with dyed purple granite floors and sinks, and two whole closets to herself. It had almost been an over-load of purple, really, but it had all been very posh and pretty.

Nudge has noticed that the names on the doors have all matched the color of the walls in the rooms. _Kimi_ reads that color of barely-there pink. _Angel_ is in that gray-ivory. _Gasman_ is in blue. _Ella_ is in purple. Even the fonts match their personalities; Kimi's childish and princessy, Angel's cursive and flowy, Gasman's bold and large, Ella's plain and loopy.

Nudge stops breathing entirely when she sees her name printed on her door.

_Nudge_ is right there in front of her; hot pink and in the same type of font that her favorite magazines use.

Nudge reaches out with trembling fingers, traces the letters of her name. She finds that she's terrified, and that confuses her. She's longed for this for so long. What if it doesn't measure up? What if it's _too_ much, and she feels unworthy? What if-

"Nudge," Mack says quietly behind her. "Breathe, for one."

Nudge exhales, her legs trembling in time with her fingers.

"Good. If it comforts you any, I know for a fact that you love what's behind that door."

This does help, a bit. Nudge can almost feel her future-self, squealing and delighted, and thinking back to the shaking girl on the other side of the door; thinking she's silly and working herself up for no reason.

Max steps forward, somewhat irritated that Jeb has once more been given the power to have such an effect on her flock. Rationally, she knows her mother helped too, and that she's waiting behind the flock with her sister, hands clasped and eyes excited. But still.

"I'll hold your hand if you want, Nudgey," Max says quietly.

Nudge considers. She's faced up against Erasers, Roids, crazy psychopaths, evil scientists, tattoo needles, nightmares about stampeding giraffes and things far worse. She can open a door. "No. No thanks, Max. It's okay. My name is just so _pretty._"

She turns the handle.

Nudge's room is the single most gorgeous thing she's ever seen in her entire life.

The walls are painted a very standard off-white cream color, found in basically every new house in America. The furniture is all very dark brown wood that matches her floors. There's a piece of carpet on her floor doubling as a rug that matches the walls.

Her bed is low to the floor, with the perfect set of two decorative pillows, two pillows that match the bedspread, and two that match the sheets. The base color of her bedspread matches the walls, and the girly designs covering it are pink and lime green and blue and orange, but mostly hot pink.

Hot pink is _everywhere;_ on the frames of the posters of the Jonas Brothers, Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato, and Miley Cyrus. It's in the straps of her lime green picture-board hanging on her wall. She has hot pink chairs in her room, all centered around a TV, and a real stereo, something she's wanted for ages, with speakers on the side and everything.

Above her bed are old vinyl records with centers the colors of her room; yellow, red, lime green, pink; The Beatles, Nat King Cole, The Smiths, Pink Floyd.

She has a walk-in closet that's nothing extravagant, which is what makes it _so freaking cool._ There is a rack underneath her clothes for shoes, and standard lighting in the ceiling. Her clothes are the latest from Forever 21, Hollister, Aeropostale, all altered to fit her wings. She has training clothes too, brightly colored like Angel's.

The best thing by far is the bathroom. Her tiles are white, her sink is white, her bathtub is perfectly normal and perfectly _white_, the outline of her mirror is _white_. The mirror even has three tiny little _lights_ shining down onto it, giving it the illusion of a dressing-room mirror. There are fresh roses, pink and red, in the vase on her sink. Lime green lines are painted on the walls, the cabinet doors beneath her sink are hot pink. And the slabs of tile on the wall are made of dozens of tiny rhinestones that all _shine_ and glitter, throwing hot pink everywhere, and adding in slivers of blue and white and every other color ever created.

There is no way in hell they can get Nudge to leave her room. She's practically hyperventilating she's so happy. She's talking so quickly that no one can possibly keep up with anything she's saying.

She promises to come look at everyone else's rooms later, though, which is more than they got out of Gasman.

* * *

They follow Dr. M down the last hallway. This one is much wider than the others, and the windows are scholarly and complex in a way the others aren't. Row upon row of bookshelves fills the very long hall. Every single one of them are filled with literature, some wedged in so tightly it makes the shelf look as though it is alive and holding its breath. Every now and then, through the rows, the flock can see tiny little areas. A cluster of thickly cushioned armchairs, or a secluded table.

Mack has her hands clapped tightly over her mouth. Her eyes are filled with tears. "What is this?"

Dr. M smiles a conspiratorial little smile in Jeb's direction, and he returns it. "Mack, darling, we know how hard you've had it over the past year or so; losing your mother, living with your father, discovering the truth about who you really are and the flock, the trial. One of the hardest things has been coping with your psychic abilities. We know your original ability has been pushed to the backburner; your _intelligence_. We wanted to give you a place to explore that again. Also, we know the aversion the flock as a whole has towards school. It's always been very difficult for them to learn in that environment. On top of all of those things, we also wanted to give you four more privacy than the others have; this house is your long-term _home._ We understand that you're older, and that all four of you are… couples. As you get older, you four will come to… _want_ this privacy. So…"

Dr. M trails off as they approach the end of the hall. There's a room to the left, and inside is nothing but a spiral wooden staircase, the windows twirling around it on the walls like a cyclone of glass. The walls here are stone, like on the outside of the house.

They climb the stairs and find themselves in another hallway, this one with bedroom doors like the rest.

On the left is a room clearly labeled _Max_; Times New Roman font, very no-nonsense, and a neutral brown color.

Max swallows hard, and looks away sharply. Across from her is a door with the word _Mack_ on it; icy blue, ancient-font letters.

Farther on down, are doors with _Iggy _and _Fang_. Igs has white, thin-font letters. Fang has black letters, written in a sprawling script.

The couples are on the same sides of the hallway, and Mack finds herself wondering if the rooms are maybe conjoined. Her stomach clenches tightly at the thought. She stares longingly at the ice-blue letters on her door. The only room she never foresaw was her own. She's dying to get inside.

But she can also sense Max's nervous vibes coming off her in waves, so instead Mack says "Alright. Boys, you first."

"Go on, Igs," Fang says quickly, eyeing his door much in the same way Max is eyeing hers.

Iggy gulps, and follows the sound of Dr. M's footsteps to the end of the hall. Mack takes his hand, biting her lip hard against a grin. She herself had picked out absolutely every detail about this room. She couldn't wait to see his reaction.

She reaches out, guiding his fingers to the letters on his door, letting him trace them for a moment like Nudge had.

"Ready?" She asks, and Iggy can hear the anticipatory smile in her voice.

"Sure. Can't wait to see it," he snickers, but his chuckle falls a bit flat.

The door opens, and Iggy's eyes are instantly bombarded with nothing but _white._ His black world turns topsy-turvy in about five seconds, and after blinking several times, he begins to make out vague outlines; a bed, low to the ground, with white sheets and white cotton blankets and white pillows. His dresser is white, his lamps are white, his chairs are white. All blindingly white, whiter than any white should be, all the same shade of _white white white white._ The slight shadows cast by the furniture allows him to see their outlines.

"Okay, Igs. Now, do you remember back when we visited my siblings at my father's house, and I took you to that very special place? The church?" Mack asks.

Iggy nods, remembering the way her body had felt pressed against his up high in the rafters.

He feels her fingers wrap around his again, and she leads him across the wide floor to the opposite wall. Then her other hand touches a white curtain and slowly draws it back.

Parts of his room disappears and turns black again, but he doesn't mind, because he can _feel_ everything else.

There is a giant stained glass window in his bedroom.

The light spilling through is warm against his sensitive skin, and he can feel the white in the room absorbing the color. He presses his hand flat against the wall and feels blue, green, red light.

"Oh my God," he gasps. The sensation really takes his breath away. Pressing his hand against something solid like a wall is so much better than pressing it against glass had been. And with the surface being white, he can really _feel_ the color. Where it had been glass before, the color-feelings had been faint and insubstantial.

"Like it?" Mack whispers.

He's completely overwhelmed, on utter sensory overload, so when he gasps and presses Mack back against the window, slamming his mouth down against hers, it really shouldn't have grossed the flock out as much as it did.

After a moment of lip-locking, tongue-stroking action, Dr. M clears her throat. "Right. Show him the bathroom, Mack."

"Okay," Mack stutters, trying desperately to catch her breath. "O-Okay. So, I modeled that window after one in the National Cathedral, in Washington, D.C. The bathroom is this way."

She leads him through his room. Iggy is the only one without a closet. Adding one would have distorted the light. All of his clothes are in dresser drawers, folded neatly in color-coded piles.

His bathroom is white too, the same shade as the bedroom. But in here, there are no windows. Instead, his entire ceiling is made up of nothing but stained glass.

"_Bulletproof_ stained glass," Jeb adds at Max's incoherent shrieks of utter alarm.

Even Fang is impressed at this.

"_Ooooh_, look, Iggy! You got those jet things that spray out in a million different directions in your shower." Angel says. Iggy doesn't have a bathtub, just a large rectangle shower surrounded by glass.

"This is incredible," he finally says in a low, gracious voice. It's possibly the most somber the flock have ever seen him.

"Great. Fangy, your room is next," Max teases. It's impossible to miss the strained sound in her tone.

Fang reaches out and inconspicuously gives her hand a squeeze. Then he rolls his eyes and says, "Don't call me _Fangy._"

* * *

"Ready," Ella says.

"Set," says Angel.

"Go!" Finishes Mack.

Fang rolls his eyes again and throws open his door without much actual gumption.

For one stunning, earth-shattering second, Fang loses his mask entirely. His eyes light up, growing to the size of dinner plates. His mouth drops open, and he stares, entirely open and breathless.

"_Holy fuck_," he says before Max has time to cover Angel's ears.

And then the mask is back again, sliding smoothly into place as though it had never left.

Fang's room is entirely black. He has a giant king-sized bed, and the blankets and pillows are just a slightly paler shade of black than everything else to give it some distinction.

His bathroom isn't a room, either; it's a raised slab of black granite in the middle of the floor. More granite surrounds his huge tub, and a waterfall shower with no walls around it hangs from the ceiling beside it. His sink is in the middle of the giant slab, and behind it is several black room dividers, probably where the toilet is. And all along the giant slab of granite are several pieces of sculpture made completely from bright neon lights.

Miniature spotlights hang from the ceiling, dim and yet strangely strong. They highlight the bed, and all along the opposite wall, more room dividers have been set up, including one behind the tub, to give the illusion of a long hallway and individual square "rooms". The spotlights are highlighting every individual square in the hall. Copies of famous artwork hang sporadically in the otherwise empty spaces. In the square on the immediate left, directly across from his bed, are Fang's several dressers that hold all of his clothes, and a bookshelf, and a TV hanging on the wall. He doesn't have a closet either, to maximize space.

In one corner are a bunch of blank canvases of varying sizes. There are sketching pads on the small nightstand by his bed, stacked thick and high. And on the shelves beside the TV are every type of paintbrush, colored pencil, charcoal, regular pencil, and paint imaginable.

Fang's room is an empty art gallery, literally waiting for him to fill it.

Max still has a hold of his hand, and his fingers start to tremble inside of hers.

* * *

Max had steadfastly refused to go next; she's going last, or not at all.

So now Mack is standing in front of her own door.

"Okay, here we go," she squeals, and turns the knob.

The entire flock is confused when they see what's inside.

The floors are wood like the rest of the house, but the wood here is worn and almost soft. On the right side of the room is a very long, off-white wardrobe. It has four separate sections for clothes, and another for shoes, each pair with their own cubby-hole. Almost none of the sections have doors to close, so all of Mack's clothes are in plain view, hanging on corners of the wardrobe and in haphazard, colorful rows. Emphasis on _colorful_, which everyone thinks is kind of weird, considering this is _Mack._ Sister of _Fang._

On top of the wardrobe(s) sits a bunch of jewelry stands and elegant black mannequin torsos, all filled with long necklaces and plenty of bracelets and giant earrings and even a couple of hats. There's a full-length mirror leaning against one edge of the connected wardrobes.

Mack bites her lip and goes to inspect the clothes and accessories. There are _tons_ of long, flowy skirts. Most are white, off-white, or brown-based nuetral colors. Others pop with bright reds and oranges and pinks. A lot of them have floral or bohemian prints. The shirts are generally tight and cropped, or have loose, flowing sleeves. The more modern pieces are all short dresses and skirts and artsy t-shirts and mesh-y and glittery. There's lots of lace, lots of sequins. Most of her shoes are heels or Converses. She is entirely okay with this.

All of Mack's new things are distinctly bohemian and _vintage _and/or sparkly and they all make bold statements. While she is incredible confused about it, she _loves_ it.

The part of her wardrobe that _does_ have a door holds all of her bras and underwear and plain training clothes. A lot of her training stuff consists of sports bras and Soffee shorts. All of her clothes have been modified for her wings.

She turns and takes in the rest of her room. On the opposite side is her new bed. She has a thick queen-sized mattress, and cream silk sheets paired with an ice-blue comforter. There are four black iron posts on either side that curve at the top and meet a giant circle in the middle above her bed. Two pieces of fabric that match her sheets hang loosely from the top of the circle and tie around the two posts near the head of her bed. There are at least eight pillows.

Her nightstand appears to be made of very old wood that resembles driftwood. Ancient candelabras complete with crystal accents sit on it, along with an antique silver hand mirror, and other little trinkets. A chandelier in the center of her room matches the candelabras. It's not nearly as elaborate as the other chandeliers in the house, but it definitely lends an elegance that wouldn't have been there otherwise.

There are mirrors behind her bed from the floor to the ceiling, designed to look like a very large old window. The wooden panels that are on the walls are painted varying shades of fading blue to match her bedspread.

There are random glass jars and vases and trinkets everywhere. The chairs are antique, with new bright fabric on all the cushiony parts that reminds her of stuff she'd seen on the movie _Moulin Rouge!_. Her desk is clearly very old and probably belonged to someone very sophisticated in its prime. There's a brand new laptop sitting there, and behind it is a bookshelf on the wall filled with first editions of all her favorite classics.

There are wide windows that make up basically the entire wall behind her wardrobes, with woodwork in between the panes painted the same blue as her bedspread.

Mack turns to Jeb and Dr. M and sees them watching her uncertainly. "This is all incredible. But I don't understand."

Everyone knows what she means. The rest of the rooms had all been so incredibly _them_; a blatant expression of every flock member's personality.

How does this fit Mack?

"Honestly, sweetie, we don't either. Jeb and I didn't design any of this. Jenny and Ballad did." Dr. M explains.

Mack blinks. "What?"

"Check the desk," Jeb adds, gesturing to it with his hand.

Mack frowns and approaches the desk, taking a closer look. Underneath the laptop is a single handwritten page. A letter.

_Dear Mack, _

_Aha! So you've found our creation. Congrats. _

The writing is very obviously girly; a part of the old, innocent Jenny had survived Itex after all.

_I'm sure you must be very confused, so allow us to explain. None of this suits you. We realize that. But it will. _

Great. Her psychic friends had created a room to express the future version of herself. Why hadn't she changed to suit the room yet?

_Don't worry about changing yourself. It'll happen soon enough. You're not the Mack that first met the flock. You're no longer the Mack with all the baggage. The path you chose in the Buddhist temple made sure of that. Look up! See that nail on the top of the bookshelf? That's to hang your beloved japa mala beads on._

Mack looks up, and sure enough there's a nail there on the very top of her bookshelf. She grins.

_Anyways, we picked out your clothes, too. Or, I did. Ballad wasn't really interested in the clothing. Don't worry, I know you're Fang's sister, and so there are several darker pieces in there too if you look hard enough, for when you get into one of your moods. Moving on. Allow us to explain why we chose what we did for your beautiful room, chica: _

_1. All the clothing in your wardrobes (that Ballad expertly nailed together, the fabulous boy, you can't even tell they were once separate) is very vintage. I tried to give it a sort of Bohemian feel, but you're very unique, you silly girl, you. So it's a bit unique too. Not exactly Bohemian, not exactly girly (read: slutty and/or absolutely overloaded with glitter), not exactly old-school, not really modern. I dunno. But that's what future-you wanted, so there you have it. _

_2. Everything in this room is antique. __**Everything.**__ Except the bed sheets and the comforters and stuff, that'd be gross. Those are from Anthropolgie. Anyway. Your past lives are important to you. They **are** you, actually. You come to love love love them, so we decided antique was the way to go with your stuff. Side note: most of these antiques are __**Italian**__ antiques, just for another wonderful tie-in for you. Side-side note: Don't worry about their former energy. We had a giant furniture energy cleansing party when we were all here, as a thank-you for getting all thirty-ish of us out of Itex. Side-side-side note: Also, speaking of Italian crap, all of your home videos are on the bottom shelf of your bookshelf. Ballad took the liberty of putting them all in protective cases and labeling them for you. He's considerate like that. _

Mack looks up at her bookshelf above her head, and it's true. All of her videos with her mother in them are there. An ache forms in her throat, and tears form in her eyes. She takes a ragged breath and goes back to the letter.

_I know you're crying now. Stop it, you pansy. Jesus. _

Mack giggles and swipes at her eyes hastily.

_Uh huh. I'm so damn funny, aren't I? Moving on. All of this wallpaper is vintage-inspired too. Your mirrors will reflect the light from your giant windows! Yay! And, uh, oh yeah, there's a decent-sized dance space too. Might want to check that out now. We'll see you sort of kind of soon! Visit us in our dreams sometime, yeah? We deserve a proper thank-you for all our hard work on this blasted room._

_ Love, Jenny and Ballad. _

Mack peers into the back of her room. The walls come into the room a little farther here, creating almost another room entirely; it's empty other than rolled up yoga mats in one corner, a door on one side, and shelves full of crystals lined up in neat rows on the walls. There are also spotlights in the ceiling and an old-school boom box with giant speakers.

A place for her to dance. To sing and act and _dance_, a part of her she'd repressed for so long.

It is positively _glorious._

The bathroom through the extra door looks just like her room; all antique, vintage, with a chipped bathtub and a huge ornate sink and more old-wood-tables with odd trinkets on them like lanterns. The walls in here are stone, like in the staircase in the hall, and there's a window with lace curtains.

"What do you think, Mack? Do you like it?" Ella asks.

Fang had been expecting the girly version of his own room, to be honest, so he's probably the most confused.

Max is horrified; if Mack's room is so unlike her, what in the world will hers be like?

Angel, having read the letter herself via Mack's mind, giggles to herself and inspects a crystal on the far side of Mack's room.

Mack grins. "I most definitely will."

Dr. M just shakes her head and sighs.

* * *

Max's room is next. There's no getting out of this. She has to open that door. Right now. So she bursts through it, stopping mid-snarl when she sees what's inside.

She _can not can not can not_ face this right now. She's on sensory overload, so she escapes through the nearest door and into her new bathroom.

This isn't too bad; there's nothing in here but standard tan tile, and thin wood panel walls. All of the walls in here are made of glass, and the forest outside surrounds her. The trees are all around her, and she can see the stream on a hill off in the distance that must lead into the lake behind the house. Her bathtub is in the middle of all of this. There is a very standard sink and mirror. There's a divider similar to the ones in Fang's room hiding her toilet and shelf of white fluffy towels. The lights are the only thing in here even remotely fancy, and even then, they're very understated and simple, hanging down from her slanted ceiling and ending in an oval.

Max takes a deep breath, ignoring the worried mumblings of her flock and family and Jeb just outside the door.

Slowly, slowly, she creeps back into her actual room and takes stock of it as calmly as she can manage.

Her floors are smooth and tan, like some sort of bird egg. There's a fake tree in one corner wrapped in fairy lights, and a window just large enough to jump out of comfortably if she wants. It has plain, simply off-white curtains, none of the weird drape crap she saw in the other rooms. The walls are all painted brown, with hints of brown-green thrown in on all the trimming. She has a desk too, plain wood the color of her floors, with four simple drawers and a chair that matches. On the back of the chair a bird is painted, a blue-green one in flight. Another chair that is identical to that one sits in the other corner.

There are two chandeliers that are very small, and are made to resemble waterfalls hanging above her desk. She decides she can live with that.

The bed is nice, too. It's a regular queen size, without all the extra thick padding like Mack had. There's a pearly brown bedspread that has flowering tree branches printed on it. The pillows are all normal pillows. The only decorative one is very tiny and manageable. The four posts of the bed are wide and carved like tree-trunks. They go up, up, up, and end in wooden tree tops with gorgeous leaves.

There's a rug on the floor that's brown, with white feathers on it that fan out to create the silhouette of a wing.

That's all. Nothing extravagant. Nothing too out-there or large or luxury-ish.

Even Max's closet is normal; a walk-in like Nudge's. She doesn't examine the clothes too closely.

"Well, Max," her mother says softly, watching Max stumble clumsily around the room with a stony face. "What do you think?"

Max opens her mouth to answer and promptly bursts into tears.

* * *

**Okay! What do you think of the flock's rooms, hmm? I'm sure there will be another drabble or two concerning the house, because it'll be featuring in all Mack Saga installments in the future and I really don't want to have to describe everything all over again. I'd really like to have all the house-descriptions in one place. So yeah. Review review! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own all OC characters. I do not own Maximum Ride. Not exactly rocket science.**

* * *

Jenny wasn't in to the party scene.

She was a _good girl._ Jiminy Crickets, what did it take to get some respect around here?!

"I've already told you, Harmony, I don't want to go."

"Why not? Other nice kids are going. Like Rebecca, you know, from science class? And Austin. Austin is pretty nice."

Jenny frowned at the mention of the two kids she vaguely knew from around school. She'd only ever saw them in passing. She guessed they were okay, but still. She had a very bad feeling about tonight.

Jenny had never told anyone about her omniscient feelings before, but she knew enough to trust them. If she went to this party tonight, at the most popular girl's house, something very bad would happen.

But Harmony was staring at her with these big wide eyes. She couldn't let Harmony go alone. That was asking for disaster.

Jenny sighed and pulled on her blue jean miniskirt.

* * *

"Harmony, let's _go_!" Jenny wailed. It _had_ been a bad idea to come tonight, she knew it. She'd followed the crowd of people down the street after a complete _idiot_ of a girl had suggested the party-goers graffiti the old Health Clinic.

Geez, who _suggested_ that kind of thing, anyway?

Harmony had been more than a little tipsy at the time and had shot out the door shouting "Where is everyone _ggooiinnngg_?!"

So of course Jenny chased after her the entire way.

Now the party-goers were completely trashing the old building, and Jenny just knew the cops were going to show up any minute.

The worst trouble Jenny had been in recently was when she forgot to put her plate in the dishwasher, and her mother gently reminded her with a wink and, "Jenny, dear, the dishwasher, remember? Silly."

"I don't think-" Harmony was starting to say, when the doors of the Health Clinic burst open.

Jenny screamed loudly. The men pouring out of there were twice the size of regular men, with disgusting faces and muscles bigger around than she was. Harmony gasped, and both of them made to turn around, but their arms were grabbed roughly as soon as they did.

They were ushered down a hallway and into an elevator. Another boy and girl had been caught as well; a tall, attractive blond boy with cloudy eyes and lip gloss smeared across his mouth, and the stupid girl that had started this in the first place.

_Serves you right,_ Jenny thought. Then she felt bad. The girl must be as scared as she was.

The elevator doors dinged, and their guards let out growls every now and then.

The smell of antiseptic made her sick, and she couldn't figure out why.

Beside her, Harmony began to sob. The reality of the situation sank in.

The bad feeling was back, and it was here to stay. She somehow knew she wasn't getting out of this.

Jenny burst into tears.

* * *

_She hadn't meant to she hadn't meant to she hadn't meant to_!

There had been a gun, a gun pointed at Harmony, and she'd seen it before it'd been pointed, she'd seen it and she'd done that weird thing with the blue light and they'd seen her do it and now and now and now and _now_-

She's been placed inside a cage, in a semi-dark room. There are bleeding _things_ surrounding her. This is clearly the room the failed ones are put in to die so why is she here?

_What happened to Harmony?_

Why is she in a cage? She's not an animal, not even half an animal like these people so why is she here?

She wants to go home. She just wants to go home. She still has to do the dishwasher.

Across from her, the thing with the million oozing sores all over its body and the inside out eyelids grins at her, blood gushing from its mouth. It's a horror she's never seen before, and there is a high-pitched keening sound coming from somewhere in her throat that she has no control over.

She still hasn't quit sobbing.

"Welcome to hell," the thing rasps out, giving one more wicked grin.

Then it stops breathing, stops moving, and Jenny begins screaming.

* * *

They don't keep her in the cage indefinitely. She is a human, after all, if only barely. They put her in a long, lab-like hospital room without curtains. The multiple IV cords tie her down to the bed. Her ankles and elbows are almost always restrained.

She floats in an iridescent land of drugs. She can never tell when she's dreaming and when she's awake, because she lives in a constant haze, and her vision is never entirely clear.

Sometimes, she dreams of a plane with Asian lettering taking off into a clear night sky.

She wonders if it's coming or going.

She wonders if she's on it.

* * *

She meets Anastasia first, although _meet_ is probably a light word. Anastasia isn't from this town, or even this country. She's been imported from somewhere. Sweden, maybe, by the sound of her accent.

Anastasia is everything Jenny isn't.

Anastasia is older; a _real_ teenager, not a silly little fourteen year old like Jenny.

Anastasia is tall.

Anastasia is blonde.

Anastasia is drop-dead gorgeous.

Anastasia is powerful.

And Anastasia is _lethal_.

Jenny watches through the drugs as Anastasia takes down two of the burly men-guard people with a flash of blue light. She watches as Anastasia squints her eyes a certain way and the men curl their fingers around their heads, screaming in agony.

Anastasia has the metal locks on the door opened in two seconds, and is halfway through it when the door at the opposite end of the room opens, and a tranquilizer takes Anastasia down.

Clearly, Anastasia has been at this awhile.

Jenny isn't sure how much time passes after that, because the drugs slip her easily through time for a long while, but when she becomes vaguely aware of her surroundings again, Anastasia is awake and sitting up in her bed, looking bored.

Jenny blinks. Jenny can't remember the last time she felt bored. She can't remember the last time she felt anything.

A burly man guard passes through, sparing them a few glances and leering at Anastasia. She snarls, and uses her powers to snatch the wrapped stick of gum out of his hands. He growls, and she knocks him out with a flash of light that makes Jenny's skin tingle.

She unwraps the gum with slow precision, and folds it into her mouth as though the action is an art form.

Jenny watches as Anastasia reclines back against the hospital bed, easily slipping her IV back into her arm.

She catches Jenny's wince, and winks. She puts a finger to her lips, then mouths the words _three, two, one._

The doors burst open and in come the scientists with energy level monitors and puzzled expressions.

Anastasia's gaze turns vacant like Jenny's. Her jaw goes slack, and Jenny wonders idly where she put the gum.

When the scientists leave a few moments later, Anastasia's gaze turns focused again, and she slips the IV back out. She pops her gum a moment later. Then blows a bubble with it.

Jenny knows that Anastasia knows she's being stared at.

Jenny doesn't know how she knows Anastasia's name.

"Hi," Jenny croaks. It's the first word she's said in a long time.

Anastasia scans her over and smirks. It's a bitter, resentful, utterly cynical smirk. But it's the first relation of a smile Jenny has seen in a long time. "No," Anastasia says, "you can't have a piece."

* * *

**I've decided to start giving you some Jenny back-story, and eventually Ballad back-story as well, piece by piece. You guys only got to see a little bit of them in the main saga, and they both will be featured quite frequently from now on. **

**What do you think, hm? Review and let me know!**


End file.
